


All Through The Night

by moth2fic



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-06
Updated: 2010-02-06
Packaged: 2017-10-11 04:58:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/108674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moth2fic/pseuds/moth2fic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gwen remembers the team.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Through The Night

**Author's Note:**

> A flashfic, written as a response to Children of Earth, and also in response to a prompt from a writing group, so un-beta'ed

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Gwen took the long way home from the supermarket, walking for the exercise and for the mental space. She didn’t get enough of either nowadays. She passed the chapel and slowed as she heard the male voice choir filling the air with their weekday practice.

 

“All through the night.” One of her mam’s favourites; her own, too, though she was no longer a chapel-goer or even a believer. They’d cured her of that, the Hub, the Rift, everything.

 

She put the heavy carriers down for a moment and flexed her fingers. Who’d think bread and milk could weigh so much?

 

The music flooded into her brain bringing a tide of soothing words edged with hurt. Brave Owen, gone into his own nuclear winter. Somehow, his guardian angel had been busy elsewhere. Bright Tosh; should she hope that somewhere the sun was shining for her? Ianto, gallant and trusting, blown away by a futile gesture. His face lingered as the strains of the melody and harmony tangled like mulitcoloured yarn around her memories. She couldn’t quite believe there would be arms for him to recline in, or not like the ones he’d reclined in here. Jack’s arms. Jack. Always Jack. Would there be any rest from sorrow or repining out there among the stars? Wherever or whenever he was, could he truly leave his Ianto behind? She thought not, wincing as she remembered leaving them at the Hub together for the night, and hurrying home secure in the knowledge that the world, or at least Cardiff, was in safe hands.

 

The voices paused, and started again, in Welsh this time, bringing a new poignancy to the words. Only a local choir but their standard was high, better quality than anything across the border. And their small world, with all its beauty and serenity, depended on the actions of her lost team. Her own actions, too, of course, but she never thought of that, only of those who had given their lives, and of the captain who had left the intolerable pain for the unknown. In saving the world’s children he had brought ill to his own - his partner, his daughter, his grandson, everyone he loved.

 

The hymn and its melody were deceptively gentle and loving. The harmony shredded like paper cuts, only stinging once you noticed the blood. She picked up her shopping and squared her shoulders, deliberately pasting a smile over her lips. It was getting dark and a wind from the bay blew tatters of rubbish around her feet. Time to walk on.

 

Time to leave thoughts of her lovely, damaged men, to go home to her own man. Rhys would hold her in his arms and calm her nightmares, all through the night.

 

 

 

 


End file.
